This Modern Writer: Kinderwhoring
[Kirsty Logan / January 1st, 2011 / This Modern Writer ]Every now and then I find that some teen girl has posted one of my poems or stories on her blog. I get all excited and talk about it on my Twitter and Facebook, and send her a comment or email to say thank-you. And perhaps this is annoying. Perhaps it’s like I’m showing off, like I’m shouting “oooh, check me out, I have a fan”, like I’m a total wanker. And I am a wanker, but there is another reason that I do this.
When I was 16, I had a website. It was dreadful, obviously. I was into kinderwhore and riot grrrl and fairytales and confessional, but I did it all in this awful cack-handed teenage way, so it was just bad poetry, lists of my favourite song lyrics, and photos of me reading books in my underwear or pouting in torn slip dresses and a tiara (see photographic evidence). Everything was in lowercase and I used punctuation like ~ and * as little decorative flourishes. I had lists of words I like to say out loud (caterpillar, amalgamate, she), lists of words I like the look of when written down (coyote, liar, anaemia), things that fascinate me, things that make me cry, things I like the smell of, me me me me me. I’m bad enough for navel-gazing now, but at 16 I was infinitely worse.
The only thing I loved more than talking, thinking, and writing about myself was books. I fucking loved books. I loved them in a way that I can never love them again, because no-one can ever love anything with the life-consuming intensity that they do at 16. I lived and breathed books. They told me how to feel, how to react. How to live life, and how to then turn that life back into words. In particular, there was a poet.
This poet, she knew me somehow. She knew what I secretly felt and she knew how to put it into words. Her life was the life I wanted: that wildly creative, fucked-up, dramatic mess that I was convinced would never get boring. Oh, how I loved her! So I carefully typed out a couple of her poems and posted them on my website, below some gushing blurb about how oh-em-gee aMAYzing she was and how I wanted to be just like her.
Imagine my epic, eye-burning, heart-swallowing joy when the poet’s name appeared in my inbox.
“Please remove my poems from your website, as this violates my copyright”.
She was right; of course she was. But I was 16 and I was in love and I had been spurned. I took down the poems and had a sulk and vowed to never read the poet’s writing again. Obviously I can sulk for a really long time, because in writing this post I realised I never did read her work again. She was right and I was wrong, but I still feel like I lost something. Everything I’ve ever read has made me into the person and the writer that I am, but there’s a tiny handful of words that stuck. Perhaps I could have been a different sort of writer if that poet had loved me back.
I am grateful and amazed and appreciative of everyone who has ever read my writing, but those teenage girls are the ones I write for. My dream has always been that my stories will speak to some girl—some lost, dreamy, hopeful, hopeless girl just like the one that I was a decade ago. I dream that she’ll read my story and finally understand something about herself, or about other people, or about the way the world all fits together.
I don’t write stories that only teenage girls will like and I rarely write teenage girl characters, because when I was a 16 year-old girl I did not want to just read about 16 year-old girls. I wanted to read about Daisy Buchanan and Esther Greenwood and Winston Smith and Kate Byrne and Courtney Love and Dirk Gently. Especially Dirk Gently, because I had a crush on him. I wanted to read about explorers and painters and rock-stars and mothers and strippers and existential detectives. I wanted to read about 26 year-old tattooed queers who live in book-lined, chandelier-lit tenement flats in Glasgow with their graphic-designer/musician girlfriends and pet hamsters (well, probably). I wanted to read about people who were mistaken and determined, people in love and falling out of love. I wanted to know the truth about the world, and I wanted it in words.
A decade later I still don’t know the truth about the world, but I know tiny bits of it, and that is what I try to write about. The copyright-claiming poet was not wrong, but I never want to be right in that way. I know what it is to love words and stories with such a passion, and I would rather have a dozen girls repost my stories than stamp on their hearts.
In The Virgin Suicides, when Cecilia Lisbon is in hospital after her first suicide attempt, the doctor asks: “What are you doing here, honey? You’re not even old enough to know how bad life gets.” Cecilia replies: “Obviously, doctor, you have never been a thirteen year old girl.”
I absolutely loved this — and I hear the heart-break of being given legalese by the writer who has Formerly Held Your Heart. You are neither wanker nor showoff. You just clearly remember what it’s like to be 13, 16, every age, because every age is heartbreak eventually.
Best, s.
It’s true, heartbreak never changes. I liked reading about it then and I like reading about it now.
Was it Maya Angelou who said, ‘…people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel’?
I love that quote! So true.
I’m too old to have had a website. But you should have seen the inside of my locker at school. I would probably be sent to counseling for this now–the most prominent quote was Emily Dickinson’s
“My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun”
And, of course, no word from Emily about copyright
Yes! The locker, the schoolbag, the notebooks – all covered in depressing, nihilistic quotes. I didn’t seem to have any snobbery, either; I’d put My Ruin and Silverchair quotes right next to Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Sylvia Plath. Who’d have thought that we’d grow up to be such lovely, productive members of society?
Fantastic. The only reason I’ve made it this far in life is because I’ve always had someone older, more established, more capable empowering me. Someone telling me what I wasn’t doing wasn’t great yet, but it had potential. That I had potential.
I was lucky to have plenty of encouragement and support from other (older, more confident, more established) writers. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to keep going without that.
Oh, those days. You know, we probably ran across each other in another time and space. In cleaning out my parents’ house, I found a big stash of zines (both mine and of other girls just like this). Time warp.
Zines! I still have a shelf full of them. I find it sad that you don’t really get them any more.
You know, in thinking about your comment I remembered that I used to post on message boards and mailing lists under the username Lorelei. Except it was probably something cringey like ~*~lorelei~*~. Ring any bells?
[...] at the PANK blog, Kirsty Logan writes beautifully about her younger days in a post that says a great deal, I think, about the importance of the relationship that writers [...]
When I was 16, I had a website. It was dreadful, obviously. I was into kinderwhore and riot grrrl and fairytales and confessional, but I did it all in this awful cack-handed teenage way…
Hell yes! I was the same way, except I wasn’t lucky enough to know about riot grrrl until college, so replace that with “vintage photography.” I had a livejournal briefly and posted an obscene amount of Anne Sexton poetry. I lived and breathed books too. Those were some unforgettable feelings. I’m glad I’ve retained some of that, now that I’m in my twenties. Sounds like you have too.
I am grateful and amazed and appreciative of everyone who has ever read my writing, but those teenage girls are the ones I write for.
A-fucking-men. Thank you for this, Kirsty.
Oh, Anne Sexton! She is a god among teenage girls.
My whole riot grrrl discovery started because I found a compilation called Alright This Time Just The Girls and I fell in love with the Mark Ryden cover art. Serendipity!
I had a livejournal too. I think a lot of that early journalling/website writing really set me up for this current climate of online writer personas and social networking. From an early age I was used to confessing things and showing my personality online, and I’ve never had a problem with that in a way that I think slightly older writers (even older by a few years) have had. It was never a process or an idea I had to get used to, as I’d never really known a world where I didn’t have an online presence. I guess it’ll be different again for writers who are 21 or 22 right now.
Anyway, I think I’ve definitely retained that early interest and passion in my writing and in myself. Even now I catch myself using little phrases from riot grrrl songs in my stories!
Also, totally with you on the Brittany Murphy crush. As a teenager I would watch anything (ANYTHING) that featured her, Christina Ricci, Drew Barrymore, or Fairuza Balk.
I think a lot of that early journalling/website writing really set me up for this current climate of online writer personas and social networking.
I completely agree. There was no sense of a process for me because even before I had a livejournal, I had an AIM screen name and participated on fairy tales/YA fiction messages boards in middle school. I’ve had an online presence since I was 8 years old and I’m 23. I only have a few handfuls of memories before I had one.
Even now I catch myself using little phrases from riot grrrl songs in my stories!
Awesome! I totally do that too. Evidence here: http://necessaryfiction.com/stories/DawnWestTwoClosets. For quick reference, go to the fifth vignette.
Also, totally with you on the Brittany Murphy crush. As a teenager I would watch anything (ANYTHING) that featured her, Christina Ricci, Drew Barrymore, or Fairuza Balk.
Fuck yeah I loved all three of those ladies. I will forever love The Craft, The Addam’s Family, Girl, Interrupted, and Whip It! Shamelessly.
I love that story! The Heavens to Betsy stuff fits perfectly.
And oh my lord, The Craft. I used to wear rosary beads in my hair in an effort to be more like Nancy. Looking back, I have no idea why I’d want to be more like her…
Kirsty, I love this post and how you write about how you (and so many other teenage girls, myself included) come to writing and fall in love with writers. It breaks my heart that this writer interacted with you the way she did. There is not a thing wrong with sharing a few poems from your favorite poet. Legally, I’m pretty sure that’s not copyright infringement because it falls under the category of fair use. Sometimes, I think there are writers who simply do not want to be read. That’s not the point though. This was just beautiful. Thank you for writing it.
Ta much, Roxane! I’m happy that other people feel this way too. I wish I’d known that ten years ago, it would have helped.
Incidentally I haven’t seen much from this poet recently, so maybe she really didn’t want to be read.
I’d have been honored if 16 year old you (or any adorable 16 year old girl like you were) posted poems or stories of mine. Good god, some people are just silly.
Aw, thanks Amber! I take it as a huge compliment when someone likes my work too. I think some writers don’t appreciate readership, when to my mind that’s a large part of writing. If you don’t want readers, don’t publish.
Hi Kristy, this is beautiful, raw, fresh. I love it. For I’m forever navel-gazing. This essay feels true to me.
Thank you.
[...] Kinderwhoring, by Kirsty Logan [...]
Kirsty, you’re 26? Wow. Well, the teenage girl in this 34 year old loves your post
Yep, 26! Do I seem much older or much younger than that?